


The Discovered in a Congo Prison Affair

by jj_minerva



Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E., The Professionals
Genre: Crossover, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-07
Updated: 2009-09-07
Packaged: 2017-10-02 11:52:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jj_minerva/pseuds/jj_minerva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1975, new partners Bodie and Doyle cross paths with UNCLE and Bodie remembers his first meeting with Illya and Napoleon ten years earlier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Discovered in a Congo Prison Affair

**Author's Note:**

> Barinda is a made up location loosely based on Cabinda, an actual place. The political situation as described by Bodie is fairly accurate.

Part 1 - London 1975

“So Jackie’s going to bring Carol, that’s her regular tennis partner, and I’ll bring you and we’ll have a game of mixed doubles on the court and then afterwards…” Bodie stopped talking and wriggled his eyebrows, doing his best leer. “Afterwards we’ll all go back to my place and…”

“Tennis?” Raymond Doyle interrupted. “You want me to play tennis?” he queried again, eyes returning to the binoculars and focusing on the house he was watching across the street. “Isn’t it getting a bit cold for that?”

“Nah, all that running around on the court will warm you up quick enough and then afterwards,” Bodie said excitedly. “Afterwards we’ll all…”

“But I have to actually play tennis,” Ray said again. “I suppose you expect me to wear a pair of those little white shorts too?” He stole a quick glance at his partner and fought hard to suppress his laughter. Bodie’s look was priceless, caught somewhere between a grin and a frown, mouth open, lashes blinking and was that a blush slowly creeping up his neck?

Ray enjoyed this game he and Bodie played with each other, friendly verbal sparring that verged on flirtation. He considered it a victory if he could leave Bodie speechless.

“You can wear them if you want to mate, but I’m not too sure about those legs. Bit on the skinny side,” Bodie tossed back, a little slower than usual, proving Ray had really thrown him this time. Ray grinned, eyes still glued to the binoculars. Yeah, it’s not my legs you’re usually looking at, Bodie, but didn’t voice the thought.

It had been like this between them for a while now and Ray wondered where it was going and what Bodie thought of it all. Not that either of them seemed inclined to take it any further. It wasn’t serious; it was a harmless game they played with each other, one that had paved the way for their friendship when Cowley had thrown them together, two very different individuals who were expected to team up and work like a well oiled machine.

“No shorts then. Wouldn’t want to put you off your game,” Ray replied knowing he’d scored another hit when Bodie spluttered.

“Don’t know why Cowley’s stuck us on this obbo.” Bodie said, changing the subject suddenly. “It’s not even a real assignment. Sit here, watch and take photos of anyone who comes to the door. Any git could do that.”

“Yeah and we’re the gits and it’s all thanks to you.”

“Me?” Bodie said, walking to the window to stand at Ray’s shoulder. “You’re just as much to blame.” He stared down at the road where twilight was slipping into darkness.

“Oh no mate, you’re not going to pin this on me. You were the one who burst out laughing during that raid. You laughed so hard you nearly dropped your gun.”

“Well, what was I supposed to do? Those two bastards, trussed up like plucked chickens with balls stuck in their mouths. It was bloody hilarious.”

“One was an MP and the other was the director of a major bank!”

“Don’t care who they were, they looked bloody ridiculous.”

“Well, Cowley wasn’t laughing and that’s why we’re stuck with this obbo.”

“And as for that bird who was dressed up like Batgirl with a whip,” Bodie continued.

Ray spluttered. “That wasn’t a Batgirl costume, Bodie.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know what she was supposed to be but I’m not into that kinky stuff.”

“Says the man who, if I’m not mistaken, was just proposing a foursome,” Ray replied, stealing another glance at his partner.

Bodie caught his eye and grinned back. “There’s nothing kinky about a foursome, Doyle. Your education has been sadly lacking.”

“Yours obviously hasn’t,” Ray said turning his attention back to the house across the street.

“I’ve been taught by experts, mate. Experts!”

Ray was about to ask if Bodie intended to share some of that knowledge when movement outside caught his attention. “Someone’s turned up. Get the camera.”

Within seconds Bodie had the camera in hand, its soft click and whirr the only sounds in the room.

Across the road, a small, dark coated figure walked briskly up the path and knocked on the door of the terrace. The door opened and light spilled out illuminating a halo of golden hair on the newcomer. Bodie drew a sharp breath.

“What’s wrong?” Ray whispered, eyes never leaving the two figures talking in the doorway. The house was owned by one Cecil Miles, a middle aged clerk in the Ministry of Defence who was known to be selling low level secrets to the Russians. He’d been monitored for several years and had been slowly fed useless information. His true value was as a means to identify Russian contacts in Britain, just as Bodie and Doyle were doing now. The two men shook hands and the stranger turned, his profile caught briefly in the light, before being swallowed by the shadows once again.

“Bloody hell!” Bodie thrust the camera at Ray. “Take this, I’m following.”

“What? Why?...Bodie?”

“I know him, and Cowley knows him and Cowley will want to know what he’s doing here and where he’s going.” Bodie paused in the doorway, blue eyes catching Ray’s. “Trust me on this one, Doyle. Just stay here and call it in.”

“But who is he?” Ray shouted as Bodie turned away.

“Someone I met once,” Bodie called over his shoulder. “Illya Kuryakin.”

 

Part 2 - Congo 1965

Bodie sniffed, wiped the blood from his nose, scrambled to his feet and prepared for round two. There was no way those two black bastards were going to get their filthy hands on him. He’d die before he let some spade…

“That’s enough. Let him go. This one is mine.”

The strangely accented voice spoke with authority and the two Congolese inmates shrank back, leaving Bodie alone in the centre of the cell. He turned quickly, ready to face this new threat, and was taken aback by what he saw. Blond hair, blue eyes, a slim, lithe frame, hardly an imposing figure but looks could be deceiving. Bodie looked the man up and down, weighing his chances. Perhaps he could take him in a one on one contest, but there were the other inmates to consider even if he was the victor. Bodie knew he had no chance against those two. That this man clearly held some sort of power over them tipped the scale in his favour.

Bodie crossed the cell to stand before him. “You keep those bastards off me and I’m all yours.”

“Really?” The blue eyes blinked and the full lips twitched into a smile. “What’s your name?” the man asked. His accent was predominantly English with a hint of something exotic that Bodie couldn’t identify.

“Bodie Andrews,” Bodie answered. “But just call me Bodie.”

“Well, ‘just Bodie’, are you always so eager to barter your body?” The voice held a gentle half mocking tone, leaving Bodie to wonder what sort of a game this man was playing.

“I know what it’s worth,” he replied. “And at the moment it’s the only currency I have. They took my boots.” His voice sounded far more confident than he felt. It was one of the first things Bodie had learnt when he left home five years earlier; never show your weakness or your fear.

“Do you make a habit of selling yourself to strangers?” An appraising look raked Bodie from head to foot.

“When I have to,” Bodie replied, meeting the man’s eyes again. “I know how things work.”

“Have you been in prison before?”

Bodie shook his head. “No, but it’s not the only place these rules apply.”

The blue eyes sparkled with interest. “It sounds like you’ve had an interesting life…Bodie. How did you come to be arrested?”

Bodie bit his lip. “They said I murdered a girl, but I didn’t. I know who did though. He framed me.”

A cat like smile appeared on the full lips. “So you’re innocent?”

“Yeah, but I don’t expect you to believe me,” Bodie threw back. “No one else does.”

“Oh, I believe you, Bodie.” The words held no trace of mockery or humour now. “I saw your tears when they brought you in. They were real.”

Bodie hung his head. Men weren’t supposed to cry, only girls did that. Christine had cried, right before Krivas shot her. That’s how the police had found him, holding her bloodied body, magnum beside him. Krivas was long gone but if he ever caught up with him, he’d kill the bastard.

Bodie made a show of wiping more blood from his nose. “So what are you in here for?” he asked, trying for nonchalance but falling short when his voice wobbled. He looked around the prison, taking stock of the situation. It was a fairly basic cell, four stretchers, a bucket in one corner, bars on the window, dirt on the floor. The two Congolese inmates had regrouped against the other wall and were watching silently. Bodie glared at them.

“Don’t worry about our friends over there. They won’t try anything. There were three of them originally until I put one of them in hospital with a broken jaw. They’ve left me alone ever since.”

“Have you been here long?”

“A couple of days. And you asked how I came to be here…well, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“You innocent too?” Bodie grinned.

“Oh no, I’m guilty,” the stranger grinned back. “I should have been more careful. Getting caught is unforgivable in my line of work.”

“You a mercenary, then?” Bodie asked. Perhaps they had something in common.

“No. ” The answer held speculation. “Is that what you are?”

“Yeah, at least for now,” Bodie replied. “But I’ve done a lot of things.”

The blond man nodded. “Perhaps I will hire your body, Bodie. I might have a use for you after all.”

Bodie smiled. He was starting to like this blond stranger so perhaps it wouldn’t be too much of a hardship. He’d certainly had worse.

“What’s your name?” Bodie asked.

The stranger smiled at him. “Illya Kuryakin.”

 

Part 3 - London 1975

“And you’re certain it was him?” George Cowley asked, eyes fixed on Bodie who stood at parade rest in front of his desk. The way Bodie unconsciously fell back into military formality was a source of amusement for Ray Doyle. They’d met up again at headquarters but Ray was none the wiser as to why Bodie had taken off to follow some Russian. He leaned against the filing cabinet, momentarily forgotten while his partner and Cowley discussed the situation.

“Yeah, it was Kuryakin, all right,” Bodie replied, face grim. “That’s why I followed him. I thought you’d want to know if UNCLE was involved.”

“It was the right call, Bodie. Good work.” Cowley paused, frowning, “The only problem is that Kuryakin is no longer with UNCLE. He left seven years ago.”

“What? Illya left UNCLE?” Bodie asked, astonished.

“Yes, apparently he’s working as a fashion designer now.”

Bodie burst out laughing. Cowley nodded. “I know, I know, it sounds ridiculous, but that’s what he’s doing, or at least, that is the cover for whatever it is that he is doing. The House of Vanya! He has branches all around the world.”

Bodie shook his head in disbelief. “Do you think he’s working for the KGB then?”

“Perhaps, but with someone like Kuryakin it is never safe to assume anything.”

“And what about Solo, his partner? What happened to him?”

“The word is that he left UNCLE shortly after Kuryakin. He’s in computers now.”

There was a lull in the conversation and Ray jumped in. “Would someone like to tell me what the bloody hell is going on? Whose uncle are we talking about or is that some kind of United Nations anagram?”

Bodie looked at Cowley, eyebrows raised in question. Cowley nodded.

“UNCLE stands for United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. It’s a world wide organisation that ….” Bodie’s voice trailed off and he looked to Cowley to continue.

“It sprang into being at the start of the cold war,” the Controller said in his soft Scottish burr. “Its prime objective is to keep order and stability in the world. It’s not affiliated with any single government but allows for co-operation between countries which otherwise might not be on speaking terms. It fights corruption on an international level and has agencies around the globe. They like to think of themselves as secret but they are well known in the right circles.”

“All sounds a bit airy-fairy to me,” Ray declared. If he was honest it sounded like something out of a bad Bond movie but he kept his tongue. If Bodie was taking it seriously then he would too. His partner had an irreverent sense of humour which he usually exercised at the most inappropriate times. But there was no trace of it now and Bodie was clearly on edge. That alone told Ray that this was far more serious than it sounded.

“So who was this Kuryakin bloke when he worked for them? He sounds Russian.”

“He is Russian,” Cowley answered. “Assigned to UNCLE by the Soviet government. He spent several years with their London branch before being transferred to the United States where he worked with another agent named Napoleon Solo.” Cowley paused, a whimsical smile gracing his lips. “Oh they were quite the team in their day, their names were whispered in the halls of MI 5 and 6. Seemed they could do no wrong. It came as quite a shock to everyone when we heard they’d both resigned.”

“So what should we do, sir?” Bodie asked.

“Follow it up. Find out all we can about what Kuryakin is up to.”

“Do you think he’s working as a courier for the Russians?”

“Possibly, or undercover for UNCLE. They may be trying to infiltrate the same network we are working on.”

“Can’t you just ask them?” Ray asked. Who did these UNCLE people think they were?

Cowley gave a sharp laugh. “It’s not that easy 4-5. You don’t ask UNCLE anything and expect a straight answer.”

“Smoke and mirrors,” Bodie murmured under his breath.

“3-7, I want you to meet with Kuryakin as if by accident. You know where he is staying so… bump into him there.” Cowley paused for a moment, thinking. “Suggest dinner together,” Cowley continued, his voice soft, almost seductive as he wove a picture. “Perhaps ask him back to your flat to talk over old times.”

Bodie chewed his bottom lip. “And if he asks what I do for a living?”

“Tell him you’re a civil servant.”

“Don’t you think he’ll already know that I work for you, sir?”

“CI5 wasn’t even conceived when Kuryakin left UNCLE. Unless he’s kept up to date on things other than fashion, he shouldn’t know anything about us. If he does, then that answers one of our questions.” Cowley waved his hand, brushing aside Bodie’s concerns. “Play it by ear 3-7, surely you can do that. Off you go.”

“Yes sir.” Bodie didn’t sound convinced as he turned to leave.

They paused in the hallway outside Cowley’s office and Ray asked the question he’d been dying to ask since Bodie had run out of their obbo.

“So you knew this Kuryakin character quite well, I take it?”

“Yeah, I knew him,” Bodie replied, eyes on the floorboards.

“Cowley seems to think you’ll get him to talk,” Doyle prodded. “Why’s that?”

Bodie looked up, caught Ray with a brittle glare and said, “Because I knew him…in the biblical sense.”

 

Part 4 - Congo 1965

“Are you Russian?” Bodie asked, wondering if he had just made a pact with the devil.

“Yes, by birth, but I have lived in many places and currently work in the United States.” Illya gestured for Bodie to follow him over to one of the cots and the two men sat down, side by side.

“What do you do there?” Bodie asked, leaning back against the wall.

“I’m an agent for a secret organisation known as UNCLE.”

Bodie laughed. “Go on…you’re pulling my leg!”

“I assure you I’m not.” There was no hint of mockery in the reply.

“Well if it’s a secret why are you telling me?” Bodie asked.

“Because I need your help, Bodie.”

“My help?” Bodie blinked, wondering just what he could offer a self confessed secret agent.

“Yes. Very soon my partner, Napoleon, will attempt a rescue. I’ll need some back up when that happens.” He turned to look at Bodie. “Do you think you can do that?”

Bodie nodded. “Sure, as long as you take me with you.”

Illya smiled, but it was a cold, calculated gesture. “Of course, Bodie. I told you, I might have a …use for you when we get out.”

The declaration sent a shiver down Bodie’s spine. For all his good looks and polite manners, there was an iciness to Illya, a ruthlessness that even his blinding smile couldn’t disguise. It made him all the more intriguing.

“So how do you know this partner of yours is coming to get you out?” Bodie asked.

Kuryakin smiled again, but this time it was the first genuine emotion that Bodie had detected. “It’s what we do for each other,” was the accompanying reply.

As if on cue, the cell door opened. “Who wanted the priest?” the guard asked. The two Congolese prisoners laughed.

“I did.” Illya stood up, crossed the cell. “Thank you for coming, Father, would you hear my confession?”

“Of course, my son.” The priest was dark haired and dark eyed. He flicked a glance at Bodie who looked away. He’d given up on religion long ago.

Illya brought the priest over to the cot where they had been sitting. Bodie made to go, but Illya stopped him with a raised finger.

“This one’s with us,” he said softly to the priest, who rolled his eyes at the Russian. “Oh Illya, you’ll have to stop picking up lost sheep.” Dark brown eyes settled on Bodie. “Napoleon Solo at your service,” he said, offering his hand.

“Bodie Andrews. Same” Bodie replied, returning the strong grip.

“He’ll be useful to us, Napoleon,” Illya said quietly. “Trust me.”

“Don’t I always?”

They grinned at each other.

“You took your time getting here.”

“Do you know how hard it is to find a disguise like this? They don’t leave dog collars just lying around, Illya.”

As Bodie listened to Illya and Napoleon quietly discussing their plan, he felt as if he was in a spy movie – of the Carry On kind. It all sounded bizarre, but there was no denying the absolute confidence the two men shared in their ability to escape. There was something else that caught Bodie’s attention as well. Illya and Napoleon were a team, so used to working together that they could finish each other’s sentences. At times they spoke in what could only be described as a sort of vocal shorthand. There was a mutual trust between them and a deep friendship that was easy to see.

Bodie felt an unfamiliar pang of envy. It would be good to have a partner like that, someone that you could trust, someone who’d watch out for you and come to your rescue. He’d seen a few such relationships among the mercenaries he’d known, but they were rare. Most mercs looked out for themselves first and foremost. Any liaisons they formed were dependent on what each man could offer the other. They were transient, usually ending once the job was finished. Listening to the two UNCLE agents, Bodie could tell that their friendship was longstanding.

Despite bordering on the ridiculous the escape plan proved to be remarkably efficient. Calling the guard over to the cell, Napoleon used his rosary beads as a garrotte. Illya then picked the lock to the gaol cell with a small file hidden in Napoleon’s dog collar. As they exited, Bodie grabbed the dead guard’s pistol, happier to put his trust in its cold efficiency. It proved unnecessary.

The three men, followed by the two Congolese, easily overpowered the remaining guards and in no time at all Napoleon, Illya and Bodie were sitting in a rattling jeep and heading across the border into Barinda.

 

Part 5 - London 1975

Ray followed Bodie down the hallway to the rest room, biding his time. There were a thousand questions he wanted to ask but sensed that his partner needed some breathing space before any further interrogation. Bodie’s revelation, although something of a shock, was not altogether unexpected. In the six months since they’d been partnered, Ray had often wondered if there was something more to their flirting and teasing. But Bodie chased women mercilessly. Ask anyone and they would say the same. His tales of conquests were legendary. Ray had never once seen him show any interest in blokes apart from himself. Was Bodie’s interest in women all a smokescreen? Ray filled the kettle and set it to boil.

If Bodie was queer, then it shed a different light on their subtle flirtation. Ray suddenly thought of the not so innocent tennis game with the two birds and the foursome afterwards Bodie had been hinting at. Under normal circumstances he might have considered it, but now?

Ray glanced over his shoulder and studied his partner. Bodie was seated at the small table, head in hands looking uncharacteristically troubled. He wondered what was broiling around inside that dark head.

“Cuppa mate?” Ray asked.

“That all you got to say, mate?” The appellation sounded more like a sneer.

“What do you want me to say, Bodie?” Ray challenged. “It was a surprise, but I’ve got no problem with it.”

Bodie shook his head. “Wasn’t expecting you to be so … broad minded.” He straightened up, a rueful smile on his lips. “Should have known, though. They broke the mould when they made you, sunshine.”

“Oh thanks, mate,” Ray replied, but the words held no sting. He poured the steaming water into the cups.

“It was meant as a compliment,” Bodie explained. “Last bloke who found out tried to break my arm.”

“Yeah, well, you’d be no good to me in a fight if I did that, now would you?”

Silence descended. Ray devoted his attention to the tea making, jiggling teabags, rationing out sugar, letting Bodie brew at the table.

“So does Cowley know?” Ray asked when he finally handed Bodie his tea. “About you and Kuryakin?”

“Seems so, although he never heard it from me.” Bodie took a sip of the hot tea, his small pink tongue peeping out to rest on the rim of the cup.

“You think this Kuryakin character told him?” Doyle asked as he seated himself across the table.

“I wouldn’t have thought so, but they did know each other.”

“In the biblical sense?” Ray asked, eyebrows raised.

Bodie pulled a face. “Eeewww! Now that’s something I don’t know and I want to keep it that way.”

“Scary thought, innit!” Ray replied. They exchanged grins as the tension broke a little.

“Where’d you meet him?”

“Africa.”

“And is he the only one? The only…bloke?”

Bodie looked up, shook his head. “No. He wasn’t the first and he wasn’t the last,” He paused, took a sip of his tea, hands curling around the cup seeking warmth and comfort. “He was…just someone.”

 

Part 6 - Barinda 1965

“How much do you know about the political situation here, Bodie?” Napoleon asked, before lighting up a cigarette and adding his own grey plume of smoke to the already heavy atmosphere.

They were seated in the bar of an unremarkable hotel in Barinda, a small Portuguese protectorate of faded colonial grandeur set amid coffee and cocoa plantations. Their arrival in the hotel lobby, dirty and dishevelled and in Bodie’s case, blood stained, had hardly raised an eyebrow. But the room was clean, the big bed was comfortable and there was running water, which was more comfort than Bodie usually enjoyed.

Now, cleaned up and dressed in fresh clothes courtesy of his new found friends, Bodie could scarcely believe his good fortune. At the moment, however, he was being scrutinised by Solo and Kuryakin which left him feeling as if he was back at school sitting an examination. Bodie hoped he had the right answers.

Although he didn’t take an active interest in who or what he was fighting for provided the pay was good and the women and drinks were cheap, he did have some idea of the local state of affairs. In his line of work you couldn’t help but hear about what was going on. And the snippets of news and other information were tucked away, along with all the jokes and poems and other bits of trivia he’d picked up from here and there. Bodie had a good memory.

“Well, let’s see,” Bodie began, wanting desperately to impress the two UNCLE agents opposite. Bodie had never met anyone like them before. Gone were the dirty clothes and disguises they had worn before and Bodie had to stop himself staring at the transformation. Seeing Solo, smartly dressed in a dark suit, Bodie wondered how anyone could mistake the man for a priest. There was nothing saintly about the look he gave the waitress when she brought their drinks. He was a man who knew how to woo women with smooth words and subtle smiles. And Illya? Washed and shaved, he looked even younger with his big blue eyes and shiny blond hair. He was dressed all in black, turtleneck and trousers, as if trying to blend into the background. The outfit however only accentuated his beauty. Bodie pulled his thoughts back to the matter at hand.

“Barinda is still under Portuguese rule along with Angola, although both are keen for independence. The Congo, that’s the Democratic Republic, where we met, achieved independence about five years ago, but is very unstable. The UN’s been involved for some time trying to prop up the government and get rid of the foreign mercenaries.” Bodie gave a bitter laugh. “It’s ironic that President Kasa-Vubu has appointed Tshombe as his prime minister because only a few years ago Tshombe was employing us mercs to fight against the government. Belgium and the US were called in last November to help free the hostages in Stanleyville. So now, there are UN soldiers and rebels clashing all over the place and there are white mercs working on both sides.”

“And which side were you on, Bodie,” Illya asked softly.

“I fought for whoever paid me,” Bodie answered defiantly. It was true and he saw no point in lying.

“Were you at Stanleyville?” Napoleon asked, flicking ash into a tray.

“No, I wasn’t.” Stanleyville had been an ugly incident with over eighty hostages killed before Belgium troops freed the remainder. He’d been lucky not to get caught up in it, although he knew men who were there.

Napoleon nodded and continued his questioning. “Are you aware that the Cubans are taking an active interest in affairs in the DRC?”

“I’ve heard rumours.”

Napoleon leant across the table, voice pitched low. “We have it on good authority that Che Guevara himself is preparing to bring Cuban troops into the Congo.”

“That would really complicate matters,” Bodie replied.

“It gets worse,” Illya added.

“We believe an American businessman named Charles Merritt, who has interests in the DRC, is secretly supplying money and arms to not only Cuban sympathisers over there but also to certain factions here in Barinda.”

“So why hasn’t he been arrested then?” Bodie asked.

“We don’t have proof…yet.” Napoleon cast an indulgent look sideways at Illya.

“My fault. I was trying to get the incriminating documents when I was captured.” Illya stared into his drink.

Napoleon grinned and gave Bodie a wink before turning serious again. “If Merritt is able to cause an uprising here as well, this whole region will be destabilised. And that’s exactly what THRUSH wants.”

“Thrush? Who’s Thrush?” Bodie asked.

“Not who, what. THRUSH is a secret organisation that thrives on chaos,” Napoleon supplied.

Bodie blinked. “Really? I thought it was some sort of rash that birds got …you know… down there.”

Napoleon bit his lip, trying to hide a smile. “Ah, yes well, that’s not the sort of thrush we are talking about. This one aims at world domination,” he continued. “And it is UNCLE’s task to stop them.”

It all sounded very far fetched, like some sort of spy movie. Bodie took another drink of his beer.

“Merritt is currently here in Barinda to meet, we believe, with communist sympathisers. He’s holding a reception tomorrow night. The hotel where he is staying has provided extra security for him and this is where you come in, Bodie.” Napoleon fixed him with his dark eyes. “You will pose as one of the security guards and get close to Merritt. We believe he has certain papers in his possession and we want you to film them.”

“Film them? Just like that?” Bodie was stunned. “How am I supposed to get that close to him?” He paused, frowned and asked, “And for that matter, why don’t one of you do it?”

“Merritt would recognise Illya from his attempted break in, and I…” Napoleon looked away suddenly. “I’m too old.”

“Too old?” Bodie questioned. It was hard to tell the two UNCLE agent’s ages, but Bodie decided they were around thirty. “For a security job?”

Illya gave a cold smile. “Napoleon is too old for this particular job. You see, Merritt has a secret weakness. Young, dark haired men. You need to gain access to his bedroom…”

“Wait a minute,” Bodie interrupted. “You want me to pick him up and let him fuck me?” So that was the game. He shouldn’t be surprised really. Illya had hinted as much back in the gaol cell when Bodie had all but admitted he’d sold himself sexually.

“To put it bluntly, yes, although it shouldn’t come to that, exactly,” Napoleon replied. “We can supply you with a drug to knock Merritt out and while he is unconscious you can search his room.”

“There’s also the fact that Mr Merritt prefers to be…on the receiving end, shall we say,” Illya explained. “So you would be the one doing the actual ‘fucking’ as you so eloquently put it, if it went that far.”

“I see.” Bodie looked around the smoky bar and considered his options. They were few and far between. In all reality he was at the mercy of these men, their kindness and indulgence.

“Bodie, this mission is of vital importance,” Napoleon added in an earnest voice that held a hint of pleading. “We have to get evidence that Merritt is in league with the Cubans before we can move against him. It’s a matter of international security.”

“And the evidence you need is in the papers in his room?” Bodie asked. He wanted to make sure he had this right.

Napoleon and Illya exchanged looks. “Yes,” Napoleon answered.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll do it.” Bodie leaned back in his chair, fingers playing with the label on his bottle. “How much are you paying?”

Solo and Kuryakin exchanged looks again. “How old are you, Bodie?” Napoleon asked.

The question took him unawares. “I’m 23,” Bodie lied. “What’s that got to do with it?”

“You’re 19 and your real name is William Andrew Philip Bodie,” Illya replied. “You joined the merchant navy at 14 using a fake ID in the name William Phillips, aged 18. You jumped ship three years later in Dakar where you assumed the name Andrew Williams. For the last year you’ve been working as a mercenary by the name of Philip Bodie.”

Bodie stared at the blond Russian. “How’d you find out all of that?” They’d arrived in Barinda that morning and Bodie had only been out of their company for a few hours while he enjoyed a hot bath and waited for his new clothes to arrive. He supposed that Illya and Napoleon had been likewise engaged but that was obviously a mistake. They’d been busy with other matters.

“UNCLE has ways and means, but that’s not important,” Illya supplied. “What does matter is that if you help us, we can arrange a new passport for you, in your real name, so you can return home to England.”

“And if I don’t want to return home?” Bodie threw back. Just who did they think they were? The local missionary society?

“That’s up to you,” Napoleon interjected. “But at least you’ll have a valid passport again. At the moment you’re a nobody. You can’t even call on the British Embassy if you get into trouble. You could disappear and no one would know…or care.”

The words were true. It had been a long time since anyone had cared about him at all. That was why he ran away from home in the first place and he’d kept running ever since. But he was living on borrowed time. Bodie thought back to the Congo prison and what could have befallen him there. Perhaps a passport and a way home was just what he needed.

“All right then. I’ll do it.” He’d done worse and in dirtier places and he was better off here than he would have been in that Congo prison. Bodie pushed the thought away, refusing to think about what may have happened to him if Illya hadn’t come to his rescue. He owed the Russian for that much at least.

“Good.” Napoleon looked at his watch and stood up. “I’ll leave you to sort out the details, Illya. I have a date.” As if on cue a young woman appeared in the doorway and blew a kiss to Napoleon.

“A date?” Illya queried. “I’m amazed you had time to arrange one, Napoleon. No wonder you took so long to come to my rescue.” The words dripped sarcasm. Illya was not pleased.

“It was purely work, my friend,” Napoleon said, smug and certain. “Miss Carmona owns a costume shop. Where do you think I found the priest’s disguise?”

 

Part 7 - London 1975

“I guess the best thing to do is just hang around the hotel bar and hope he comes in. I’ll keep a watch on the entrance too, to see if he comes or goes and if he leaves, I’ll follow and bump into him in the street.”

Bodie leaned against the side of the brown Rover where they had parked a block away from Kuryakin’s hotel. Despite the casual stance, Ray could tell that Bodie was uneasy. It was written in his eyes, and there was a tightness to his lips and a tenseness to his jaw. The assignment was already taking its toll.

“And I’ll watch you and report in to Cowley if you manage to set up a meeting,” Doyle said, hoping to reassure his partner that he was there for him. This couldn’t be easy for Bodie, not only having to spy on an old lover but possibly seduce him as well, all in the name of national security. Doyle was thankful he didn’t have any skeletons hidden in his own closet for Cowley to make use of, at least, none that he had ever acted upon.

“We’ll have to hope he hasn’t already…” Bodie began, but fell silent, his gaze fixing on something just past Ray’s shoulder.

Ray spun round to come face to face with the man himself, their target, Illya Kuryakin.

“Illya?” Bodie stuttered. Ray didn’t need to see his partner’s face to tell that Bodie was as surprised as he was.

“Bodie?” The full red lips were smiling and the blue eyes wide and innocent, but there was something hidden in their depths that left Ray feeling cold. “Well, this is pure serendipity! Imagine running into you here, after so long.”

Ray frowned. This was too much of a coincidence. The prey had suddenly turned hunter. If what Cowley had said about this man was true, then there was nothing happenstance about this meeting.

“Are you going to introduce us, mate?” Ray asked, plastering a smile on his face.

“Ah, yeah. Ray, this is an old …friend of mine, ah…” Bodie began in a voice more nervous than Ray had ever heard him use before.

Bodie faltered and the Russian seized control of the situation. “I’m Illya Kuryakin, pleased to meet you.” He held out his hand towards Ray.

“Ray Doyle,” Ray responded as he and the Russian shook hands and sized each other up. Kuryakin was shorter than Bodie, perhaps even a little shorter than Ray himself. There was a wiry strength about him that Ray recognised as being not unlike his own, although Kuryakin had a few pounds weight advantage. He looked much younger than he must be and the blond hair and blue eyes only added to the air of innocence and youth. It would be easy to underestimate this man but Ray wasn’t about to let that happen.

“So what are you doing in London, Illya?” Bodie asked.

The Russian made a show of checking his watch. “I’m here on business but I can’t talk now, I’m due at a meeting. Perhaps we could get together later. Do you live locally?”

“Ah, yeah…” Bodie began.

“Good, good, just give me the address and I will meet you there this evening. I really must rush or I will be late.”

Bodie scribbled his address on a piece of paper which Illya tucked into his pocket. “I should be through around seven. I’ll bring vodka. You still…drink, don’t you Bodie?”

“Uh, yeah I…drink.”

“Wonderful, I’ll see you then.” He turned to Ray. “Nice to meet you, Mr Doyle,” and as quickly as he had appeared, Illya Kuryakin was gone, disappearing across the road into the crowd.

Bodie and Doyle looked at each other.

“Well, that was…”

“Yes, it was…”

“I think we’d better tell Cowley.”

Back at CI5 headquarters, George Cowley listened to the news with quiet interest. “Well, this is an interesting turn of events,” he said, eyeing the two agents standing before his desk.

“Do you think he’s on to us?” Bodie asked.

“He’s on to something,” Cowley replied thoughtfully. “But what exactly is anyone’s guess.”

“So what’s our next move?” Ray asked. Everything about the situation left him feeling uneasy.

“We play along with Kuryakin’s plans,” Cowley said without pause. “Bodie, I want you to get him talking, see what you can find out about what he’s doing here, his movements, his…”

“That won’t be easy,” Bodie interrupted. “He’s a trained UNCLE agent!”

“Don’t underestimate yourself 3-7. Get him to take you into his confidence. He did that once before so do whatever is required to get him to trust you again.”

“Whatever is required?” Bodie blinked.

“Yes 3-7, and I know you know what I mean, so don’t play the blushing virgin.”

Cowley turned to Ray Doyle.

“4-5, I want you to listen in and record the conversation. I’ll arrange for a surveillance van to be set up outside of 3-7’s flat.”

“You want me to bug Bodie’s flat?” Ray asked, astonished.

“No, no, Doyle.” Cowley waved his hand and shook his head. “His flat is already bugged. I want you to listen in and record whatever takes place.”

“My flat’s bugged?” Bodie spluttered. “When did that happen?”

Cowley was clearly losing patience. “All CI5 flats having listening devices installed as standard procedure. It’s a sensible precaution in case we ever need to ….monitor one of our agents,” he explained.

“But that’s just…wrong, sir. I mean, what about my privacy?” Bodie protested.

“I have better things to do than waste my time listening to your weekend conquests of barmaids, 3-7. We only use them if we suspect someone.”

Ray bit his bottom lip to stop his laughter. It wasn’t really funny, knowing that Cowley could order someone to monitor your movements, but Ray could see the humorous side. Bodie obviously thought differently.

“So who’s going to be listening to this?” Bodie challenged, red faced with anger.

“Just Doyle. There’s no need to broadcast it all around HQ. It’s a precaution, Bodie. Kuryakin’s a slippery character and I’d rather know we had someone on hand to act if …anything unexpected should take place. I’ll only listen to the tapes if there is a need.”

“Sounds sensible,” Ray agreed, although he didn’t relish the thought of eavesdropping on his partner.

“I still don’t like it,” Bodie muttered.

“You don’t have to like it, 3-7,” Cowley declared. “You just have to do it.”

 

Part 8 - Barinda 1965.

Illya Kuryakin watched with stoic indifference as Napoleon Solo disappeared with the young woman on his arm, before turning back to Bodie. “So, it seems we are stuck with each other’s company for the evening,” he declared.

Bodie took a drink of his beer and looked around. The room had filled up as the evening gave way to night. Most of the tables were now full and in one corner someone was playing softly on a piano.

“We could always find ourselves some girls too,” Bodie suggested, smiling towards two young women who were seated at the bar. They were probably bar girls, nothing more than whores with a fancy title. But it had been a while since he had enjoyed any female company and it would be a shame to let the big, clean bed in his hotel room go to waste. It wouldn’t be the first time Bodie had paid for sex, but therein lay the problem. He had no money.

Perhaps if he could interest Illya, the Russian might offer to shout for this as well. If Illya didn’t want to pay for two girls, then Bodie was happy to share one. He’d done that before with fellow mercenaries. One girl between two, and if the bloke wanted to feel him up a bit too, well, there was generally no harm in it provided he was willing to pick up the tab.

“So what do you think?” Bodie asked Illya, nodding towards the bar. The two women smiled back.

Illya followed his gaze and frowned. “I’d rather not, but feel free to indulge yourself. I’ll just go back to our room.”

“Our room?” Bodie blinked.

“Yes, our room. Napoleon only booked two rooms, he wasn’t expecting anyone extra and there were no more available in the hotel. Although he and I often share, I doubt he will appreciate my company tonight. I’m afraid you’ll have to share a bed with me.” Illya glanced towards the two women again and added, “Unless you get a better offer.”

So that was it. Bodie studied the Russian across the table. Although he was no stranger to same sex relations, Bodie never actively chased after men himself, preferring women. But there was an undeniable sexual magnetism about Illya Kuryakin that he found hard to ignore. Perhaps it was that hint of an accent, exotic but undefinable or his larger than life persona – a real life secret agent. Perhaps it was simply his blond hair and blue eyes. Whatever it was, Bodie found himself drawn to the Russian like a moth to a flame.

“It’s all right, I don’t mind sharing,” Bodie replied. If Illya was expecting something from him tonight, then it might be interesting to play along. The man intrigued him in so many ways.

“But no women,” Illya added with a coy smile.

With Illya’s looks, he’d have no trouble seducing women and Bodie wondered why he would pass up that option when it was available. “Don’t you like women?” he asked.

Illya’s face remained impassive but his tone held a note of derision. “They serve their purpose but I have little time for them. They are clinging and whiny. You rarely find one who is your equal, either intellectually or physically.”

“So you prefer men then?”

Illya’s smile held a dangerous edge. “Yes, I prefer men.”

Bodie’s eyes wandered to the door where Napoleon had disappeared. “Do you and Napoleon…?”

Illya answered with a sharp laugh. “No, Napoleon and I …no.” He shook his blond head. “Napoleon is strictly a ladies’ man.”

“But you’d like to,” Bodie declared, in a sudden flash of understanding. “With Napoleon...You’d like to do it with him, wouldn’t you.” It was obvious to Bodie, who had seen these two men work together, watched them plot and plan and spar with words. Their repartee bordered on flirtation.

“That is no business of yours,” Illya smiled, his eyes suddenly wistful. “But yes, Napoleon could have me any way he wanted me, if he was so inclined.”

Bodie frowned. “Any way?” he repeated. “Would you let him fuck you?”

“Oh yes, I’d welcome it,” Illya answered, his attention focussing back on Bodie. “Does that surprise you?”

Bodie made a face. “What’s to like about having a cock up your arse?”

“Oh, Bodie,” Illya frowned. “Has no-one ever taken the time to show you how good it can be?”

Bodie didn’t reply. The majority of his liaisons had been little more than hurried encounters with both participants mostly dressed and on their feet. It was about getting off, as fast as possible with little thought to mutual satisfaction. He considered himself fortunate that most of his partners had given him a choice in the matter.

Illya stood up. “Come on, I’ll get some vodka and we can discuss this further in our room.”

“Discuss this?” Bodie parroted, standing up and following the Russian through the maze of tables and chairs. “I’ve heard it called a lot of things, but discussion is a new one.”

The words brought Illya to a standstill. He turned sharply, stepping in close to Bodie. “I meant what I said.” The words were soft and low, for his ears only, made all the more intimate by the noisy crowd around them. “I’ll not ask you to do anything you don’t want to, or do anything you won’t enjoy.”

Bodie held his breath, trying not to react to the warm body suddenly invading his personal space. This close, Illya’s eyes were even more vivid and Bodie fought hard to resist the temptation to fall into them. Bodie closed his eyes for a moment.

Circumstance had long ago forced Bodie to become acquainted with another side of his sexuality so perhaps it wasn’t surprising that he might eventually meet a man that he found truly attractive. He looked into the deep blue eyes again and said something he had never said before.

“I want to... I really want to, with you.”

 

Part 9 - London 1975

The van was cold but Ray suspected that wouldn’t be a problem for much longer as he listened to the conversation taking place in Bodie’s flat across the street.

Bodie had been all but silent after their meeting with Cowley and Ray hadn’t known how to breech the wall he’d erected around himself. But he’d tried, just before Bodie had headed home.

“Listen mate, I don’t care what Cowley says, if things start to go wrong or…you need me, just call. I’m across the street and I’ll come running. Don’t do anything you don’t want to, okay?”

There was an unidentifiable look in Bodie’s eye when he answered. “Thanks Ray, you’re a good mate. But I’ll be all right.”

Illya Kuryakin had arrived promptly at 7.00pm, driving a flashy convertible with the top down despite the cold weather. For the last half hour he’d been entertaining Bodie with details of his ever expanding business which boasted fashion houses in several major cities around the world, including one inside the Eastern Bloc. He’d shown little interest in Bodie’s remark that he was a civil servant.

But the conversation suddenly took a different turn when the vodka was opened. Bodie was the instigator.

“I haven’t had vodka this good since that time we shared a bottle in Barinda.” Bodie’s voice was soft and wistful despite the distortion coming over Ray’s headphones. “Do you remember?”

“How could I forget, Bodie?” Illya replied, pausing while he drank. “I’ve thought about you often.”

Bodie gave a harsh laugh. “Really? I find that surprising!”

Ray bit his lip. How much of this was acting and how much was Bodie speaking his mind? Perhaps he should have questioned Bodie further about his relationship with Kuryakin, if only to have a better idea of where the conversation was heading.

“Surprising? Why, Bodie? Don’t you ever think about me? About all the things I showed you that night?”

There was a rustling sound of bodies moving on the couch, the clink of a glass.

“Yes, I think about it…you….sometimes.” The words were breathy, deep.

“And do you remember everything I taught you?”

“Yes.” The old Bodie was back, voice dripping with charm. “But I might need a refresher course.”

Both men laughed and there was nothing false in the sound as far as Ray could tell, just two old friends sharing a private joke. He made a conscious effort to relax his jaw which had somehow become clenched.

“Do you have a girlfriend, or…a boyfriend?”

“Girlfriend, no, no one regular at least and boyfriend…no. It’s too dangerous in my line of work.”

As the words crackled through the headphones Doyle groaned. Bodie, you idiot, you’ll give yourself away!

Kuryakin pounced. “Really? The civil service is dangerous?”

“No…uh, what I mean is…” Bodie searched for an explanation. “They are very conservative in the office and well….I’d be leaving myself open to trouble if anyone found out.”

Ray rubbed his forehead. Perhaps Bodie wasn’t the best choice for undercover work. He lacked the ability to fabricate a convincing story at short notice. Ray had seen evidence of this a few times when he’d been with Bodie and bumped into one of his many girlfriends. It had been almost comic watching Bodie try to think up an excuse for either not ringing, forgetting a date or, on one memorable occasion, forgetting the poor girl’s name! But there was nothing funny about the situation now and Bodie with sex on his mind was Bodie at his most vulnerable. Ray suspected that Kuryakin had worked that out years ago.

“If it’s too much to risk, then perhaps I should leave now?”

“No, I didn’t mean that. It’s just that I can’t go out looking for it in case someone sees me.”

“Ah, but wouldn’t that mean the person was also looking for it?” Kuryakin said confidently. “There are only so many places to go in London to find what you’d be after.”

“And I bet you know every one of them, you smug bastard,” Ray whispered to himself. The Russian was running rings around Bodie.

“Well, I’ve never thought about it really….it’s just safer to not think about it at all.”

“But you think about me, you said so yourself.”

There was more rustling and suddenly the undeniable sound of kissing. Ray shook his head, smiling. Was this Bodie’s strategy to get them back on safe ground? It certainly served to stop the conversation. Ray closed his eyes as the sounds continued and seconds passed. Surely they’d have to come up for air soon?

“You don’t seem to be out of practice,” Illya’s disembodied voice declared a short time later.

“Kissing’s the easy part. Do you want me to demonstrate my other techniques?”

“You’ve lost none of your…enthusiasm, I see.”

The couch squeaked. “Come on, let’s get comfortable. The bedroom’s through here.”

Shit, Bodie is really going to do it, Ray thought to himself, and I’m going to be listening!

Once in the bedroom, they wasted no time and Ray was left to listen to the muffled sound of clothes being shed. “You’ve changed Bodie,” Kuryakin whispered, “You’ve grown taller, filled out, you’re more…muscled. I like that. But your skin is still so soft.”

Ray clenched his teeth again. Just how old was Bodie when he first encountered the Russian?

“You haven’t changed at all. You’ve hardly aged a day.”

“Well thank you, although there are a few more scars, I fear.”

“They look good to me, rugged, sexy.” Bodie’s voice was husky with passion.

As the conversation stopped and the sounds coming through his head phones became more frantic, Ray closed his eyes, bit his thumb and then cursed under his breath. Cowley and his orders could go to hell. It simply wasn’t right to record this. Ray turned the tape off with a sharp click.

 

Part 10 - Barinda 1965

Illya was in no hurry when they closed the door in their hotel room. There was none of the frantic fucking or rushing to get off that Bodie was expecting. Instead, the Russian took his time opening the bottle of vodka and pouring their drinks. They made themselves comfortable on the bed, the only place to sit in the small room and Illya outlined the plan for Bodie’s undercover operation between sips of vodka and stolen kisses. It was different to Bodie’s previous experiences with men. This was more akin to how you wooed a girl, a girl you really liked, not one you had paid for.

As their kisses became more heated, Illya’s hands insinuated their way into Bodie’s clothes in much the same way that the Russian was slowly insinuating his way into Bodie’s heart. Illya cared about him, why else would he take his time like this and promise to show him pleasures he couldn’t imagine? He’d asked for Bodie’s help too, told him that he was the only one who stood a chance of getting close to Merritt and how important it was that he succeeded. Perhaps Illya thought Bodie would make a good UNCLE agent and was testing his mettle? Perhaps he’d take Bodie with him when he returned to America? Bodie closed his eyes, giving himself over to the fantasy. They’d make the perfect team, partners and lovers, unconquerable.

When Illya told him to strip off the rest of his clothing, Bodie obeyed, eager as a puppy with a new master. He trusted Illya in ways he’d never trusted anyone before. He lay on the bed as Illya mapped his skin with lips and tongue and fingers. And those fingers could do magic things. They wove a spell, entrancing Bodie, binding him with touches of tenderness, the like of which he had never known. He gave himself up to the sensation, content to let Illya lead the way, eager to do whatever the Russian wanted.

The talented hands and mouth took him ever higher, but the fingers clamped tight around the base of his cock refused to loosen and let him come. Bodie screwed his eyes shut and whimpered. “Please Illya,” he begged, writhing on the sheets. “I’m going to explode!”

The warm suction enfolding his cock lifted, although the pressure that circled its base remained in place. “Don’t be so impatient, Bodie,” Illya whispered. “There’s an art to making love and it shouldn’t be rushed.” His hot breath drifted across Bodie’s skin. “Try and anticipate the moment.”

“The moment I die?” Bodie asked, voice aquiver.

“No,” Illya replied. “The moment I take you.” And he fluttered the fingers of his other hand that were buried deep inside, igniting that secret place he seemed to know so well.

Bodie saw stars. “Please, please,” Bodie gasped, nerves singing. “This is torture! Do it now….I want you…You were right….it’s…wonderful…but please… just let me come.”

Illya withdrew his hands and mouth. Bodie opened his eyes, feeling bereft, only to see Illya looming above him, blue eyes dark with lust. He lifted Bodie’s legs, swung them easily over his shoulders and in one long, slow slide, buried his cock in Bodie’s arse. The pain was momentary, erased by an ecstasy so blinding that Bodie came without warning and lay there drained and dazed while Illya found his own release.

Afterwards they lay side by side, their sweat cooling and heartbeats slowing. Bodie longed to roll closer, to rest his head on Illya’s shoulder and drift to sleep in his arms. Such things were acceptable with women if you really liked them. But men? The last thing he wanted was to make a mistake with Illya, to do something that was unforgivable. In the end he settled for whispering his thanks only to discover that Illya Kuryakin was already asleep.

 

Part 11 - London 1975

He’d tell Cowley the machine malfunctioned and face the consequences if the old man complained. If he wasn’t so worried about Bodie even now, Ray would turn the radio off all together and leave them to it. There were some things that should remain private, and listening to your partner make love was one of them. Was Bodie even aware that Ray was still listening or had that been forgotten in the first waves of lust?

And that was what was coming through the speakers now; lust, pure and simple. No acting or faking - this was for real. The moans and groans, the slap and slide of skin against skin, the short hurried breaths and gasps, and the desperate, whispered words, yes, now, harder, faster, more, more, more!

The chill of the van was forgotten and Ray tugged at the neck of his shirt, suddenly hot and uncomfortable. This was wrong, this was so wrong, but his imagination had begun working overtime and his body responded in kind. He may have lacked actual experience, but Ray had long harboured thoughts about what it would be like with a man. He’d never been tempted enough to act upon his interest so his knowledge was purely theoretical, garnered from the various illegal men’s magazines that had been found in the evidence lockup during his time on the Force. He’d laughed and made fun of them with his fellow Officers whilst quietly burying the images away in his subconscious. They burst forth now, providing vivid detail for the soundtrack that was playing over his headphones.

“Christ, Bodie,” he muttered, turning the volume down as low as he dared. His jeans were becoming uncomfortable, he’d broken out in a sweat and there was nothing he could do about any of it. No longer could he pretend that he wasn’t turned on by what he was hearing. But it was more than basic lust. He liked Bodie, as a partner, a friend, an individual. Despite their very different lives and natures, Ray had found a sense of kinship with Bodie. He struggled to define it, not sure if it was because of the work they shared or something far deeper. Now, visions of Bodie, naked and sweaty flooded his head, opening up new possibilities. What would it be like to share this final intimacy with Bodie? To touch him, hold him, kiss him, fuck him, love him?

Ray heard his partner gasp and sob, knew Bodie was coming and damned near did the same himself. It was sheer willpower that stopped him ejaculating in his jeans, that and the thought that Cowley might want to see him when this was over.

It was wrong to blame Bodie; he was as much a pawn in this as Ray himself. This was Cowley’s fault and Cowley alone would be responsible for the fall out.

And there would be fallout. Could he ever look at Bodie again and not remember this moment? No longer could he pretend that he didn’t want Bodie as much as he suspected Bodie wanted him. He’d seen the looks when Bodie thought he wasn’t watching, noticed the way Bodie always hung back a step or two when they climbed the stairs. Ray had played to that interest, deliberately wearing his tightest jeans and wondering what effect it had on his partner. It was all part of the game they played with each other. But their flirtation had gone as far as it could. One of them would have to find the courage to make the next move.

Ray rested his head against the tape spools trying to get control of himself once more, his breathing falling into time with the twin sounds drifting through the headphones, slowing, relaxing. He pictured Bodie and the Russian lying side by side. Would they hold each other, warm in the afterglow, basking in the comfort of touch? Or had they even now turned away, the intimacy of moments before discarded before it could take root and grow. Ray listened to the growing silence and wondered if they had both simply fallen asleep.

It was Bodie who finally spoke and it wasn’t for pillow talk.

“So why did you leave UNCLE?”

Ray fumbled to switch the tape on and knocked over his flask of tea. “Bloody hell,” he cried as the hot liquid went everywhere. He jumped up, narrowly avoiding burning his lap. The headphones slipped off his ears, only to be grabbed and replaced just in time to hear Kuryakin’s reply.

“What makes you think I’ve left UNCLE?”

 

Part 12 - Barinda 1965

“Trust me, Bodie, gaining Merritt’s interest will be the least of your concerns,” Napoleon declared as his nimble fingers adjusted Bodie’s bow tie. Bodie wasn’t so sure. He lacked confidence in his sexuality, particularly when it came to men. He felt foolish trying to turn on the charm. Women were far easier targets. But Napoleon had dressed him up in a tuxedo and groomed him so that he hardly recognised himself in the mirror. It was as if he had stepped into a fairy tale or a fantasy, somewhere between Cinderella and James Bond.

Illya looked him up and down with clinical appraisal. “You’ll do very nicely,” was the only comment. But Bodie caught the glint of appreciation in Illya’s blue eyes when he thought Bodie wasn’t looking.

“So what do I do, exactly?” Bodie asked, fingering the fine cloth of his dinner jacket. He’d never worn a tuxedo before and wondered where Solo had found one that fit him so well at such short notice?

Napoleon stared back at him, eyes blinking in panic. “What do you do?” he echoed before turning to Illya. “I thought you said he’d done this before?”

“What do I do at the reception,” Bodie interrupted, fighting the urge to laugh. “If I’m supposed to be security, what are my duties?”

Napoleon looked relieved. “The usual. Watch for any disturbance, any uninvited guests, or those who may be under the weather. Escort them out without making a scene. The reception is probably a front for Merritt to seek out supporters from the local community. He’ll be mingling, asking questions, seeing who shows interest. Keep your ears and eyes open as well. But your main task is to make sure Merritt notices you.”

The security job was something Bodie understood. He’d worked briefly as a bouncer in Dakar when he first jumped ship and had provided personal security for a couple of big wigs during his time as a mercenary. If only he was as confident of gaining Merritt’s attention.

In the end, Bodie didn’t have to worry about how to approach Merritt. The business man had been watching him for most of the evening and caught Bodie’s eye once or twice. The second time it happened, Bodie smiled, trying to look seductive, but feeling rather foolish.

As the evening came to a close and the security team was dismissed, Merritt walked over, leaned in close and whispered, “How much?” This was more to Bodie’s understanding, a simple monetary transaction for sex.

“What currency,” Bodie asked.

“I have francs, marks, pounds and dollars.”

“US dollars, twenty,” Bodie replied, hoping it was somewhere near the going rate. If he went to the States with Illya, the dollars would come in handy.

“Twenty Dollars?” Merritt snorted. “What am I getting?”

“Anything you want, but I won’t stay the night.” He’d arranged to meet Napoleon and Illya back at their hotel as soon as Merritt was asleep and he’d completed his mission.

Merritt looked interested. “How long?”

Bodie couldn’t help smirking, “It’s very long,” he said with a wink and added, “And I’ll stay till I wear you out and you fall asleep, if that was your question.”

A sly smile appeared on Merritt’s lips. “I like your sense of humour. All right, I’m in the suite on the fifth floor. Be there in ten minutes. And you’d better be good.”

“I’d better be,” Bodie whispered to himself, as Merritt walked away.

Bodie checked he had everything safely in his pockets before knocking on Merritt’s door. The camera Napoleon had given him was disguised as a match box, and the sleeping drug was secreted in one of his cuff links. All he had to do was open it and empty the contents into Merritt’s drink then allow enough time for it to work. Napoleon had said about five minutes and Bodie was sure he could string Merritt along until it took effect.

Merritt looked him up and down when he entered the room and gestured for Bodie to take a seat. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Does it matter?” Bodie replied, ignoring the invitation. He looked around Merritt’s suite, far larger and grander than the room he was sharing with Illya.

“Probably not, if that’s how you want to play it.” Merritt stubbed out his cigarette. “Take off your clothes then and let’s get on with it.”

Bodie realised his mistake straight away and tried to make amends. “What about a drink first?” he asked, smiling.

“I’m not paying you to drink,” Merritt threw back.

“Look, I’m sorry, it’s been a long night, I…” Bodie bit his lip, thinking hard. “I could do with a drink to relax a bit, you know. M’name’s Andrew,” he added as an afterthought.

“Well, Andrew, since you asked so nicely.” Merritt moved to the drinks cabinet and Bodie took off his jacket and sat down, loosening his tie.

Merritt brought two glasses over and sat down next to him.

“English, are you?” Merritt asked, eyes raking Bodie up and down.

“Was,” Bodie replied. He lifted his drink, sipped, and placed it down on the side table, all the time watching Merritt hold his own glass. How was he supposed to get the drug into Merritt’s drink? The plan had sounded so simple when Illya outlined it and Bodie had thought no further. But the actual mechanics of putting something in a drink that he hadn’t prepared himself was far more complex.

“Is something wrong with your drink?” Merritt queried, taking another sip of his own.

“Uh, no.” Bodie swallowed a large mouthful, barely registering the taste. Think, he told himself. “So, what about payment?” Bodie asked, hoping for a chance to administer the drug when Merritt retrieved the money.

Merritt sighed and stood up, leaving his glass on the table. As he turned his back, Bodie fumbled with his cuff link. The fine powder disappeared into the dark rum in moments.

“Enough time wasting,” Merritt said waving a $20 note in the air. “If you’ve changed your mind you can leave now otherwise you can earn your pay through there.” He nodded towards an adjoining room. “I’ll be waiting, but not for long.” And with that Merritt turned his back and left the room. Bodie grabbed the two glasses and followed.

“You forgot this,” he said as he entered the bedroom. The businessman was already undressing. Bodie held out the glass. Merritt stared at him, clearly impatient.

“Bottoms up?” Bodie grinned, downing his own drink in one long swallow.

That brought a smile to Merritt’s face. He took his glass and leered at Bodie. “Bottoms up,” he echoed and repeated the gesture before continuing to undress.

Bodie hurried to catch up, dropping his clothes and leaving them where they fell. Before he had a chance to remove his socks, Merritt grabbed him, manoeuvred him to the bed and pushed him down. He was a big man, well built despite his age, powerful. Bodie resisted the urge to struggle as Merritt ran his hands across his skin, pawing, kneading, taking possession. He counted the seconds, then minutes as Merritt’s touches became more heated, more demanding. Why wasn’t the drug working and how long he could he stall the businessman before arousing suspicion?

As Merritt’s fingers slipped down Bodie’s arse, making his intentions known, Bodie froze. “Umm, don’t you want me to fuck you?” he asked. That’s what Illya had told him, that Merritt liked it that way.

“You think that’s what I’m paying you for?” Merritt laughed harshly and claimed Bodie’s mouth in a brutal kiss, giving his bottom lip a sharp nip. In one swift move he rolled Bodie roughly onto his stomach. “I’ll be the one doing the fucking, boy.”

Bodie licked his lip, tasting blood. What to do? The drug wasn’t working. Napoleon and Illya were counting on him to complete this mission and he didn’t want to disappoint them. Their approval was important, especially if he was to stand any chance of going with them when they left Barinda. They’d never consider asking him join UNCLE if he failed. There was nothing he could do except let Merritt do what he wanted to and hope he fell asleep afterwards. If Bodie was quiet and careful he might yet manage to photograph Merritt’s papers. So he closed his eyes, relaxed as much as he could, and thought about Illya. He didn’t listen to Merritt’s ragged breathing as he took his pleasure, didn’t hear the squeak of the bedsprings or the way the bed head rattled, didn’t hear the grunt and groan as the businessman came.

And he didn’t hear the soft click of a camera taking photos through a spy hole in the wall opposite.

 

Part 13 - London 1975

“You want to come up?” Bodie’s voice echoed through the headphones.

“Yeah, all right,” Ray responded automatically before remembering Bodie couldn’t hear him.

“I’ll leave the door unlocked for a few minutes, Doyle… if you’re still there…” Bodie’s voice trailed off, uncertain.

Ray locked the van and sprinted across the road. His nerves were still ringing with arousal from overhearing the second round of lovemaking between Bodie and the Russian. He was breathing hard by the time he reached the top of the stairs and entered Bodie’s flat.

“This is no time to be careless, Bodie,” Ray said as he closed the door and locked it. “Suppose Kuryakin decided to come back?”

“I was watching from the window,” Bodie replied from across the room. “I knew it was you. Drink?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Ray glanced around, searching for any remaining traces of Kuryakin’s presence but the flat looked untouched by what had taken place there earlier. Could the same be said for Bodie and himself?

“You get it all, did you?” The words were flat, unemotional. Bodie’s back was turned.

“No, not all of it. I turned the tape off.” Ray made himself at home on Bodie’s couch.

“You what?” That brought Bodie around, eyes wide, long lashes blinking in surprise.

“I turned the tape off before things got…complicated. It didn’t seem right to record it. I turned it back on when you…finished.”

Bodie shook his head in disbelief. “Cowley will have your arse!”

Ray gave a bitter laugh. “Can’t be any worse than what he’s got you doing.” The joke fell flat. Bodie turned away. Ray tried again, “You all right, then?”

Bodie hovered near the sideboard, fiddling with glasses and bottles. He didn’t look up when he answered. “Fine, what about you?”

“Me?” It was Ray’s turn to be surprised. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Not revolted by it all?” The words were icy.

“No,” Ray replied. “The opposite actually, if we’re being totally honest.”

Bodie’s eyes flicked towards him momentarily before retreating once more.

“You having me on, mate?”

“Not at all, mate.” Ray said, leaning back on the couch and stretching out his legs. He took a deep breath, considering his next words carefully. “So what’s it like?” he asked, aiming for casual but falling short.

“What’s it like?” Bodie turned, fixed him with a brittle stare. “You mean…with a bloke?” There was a defensive edge to Bodie’s voice. “Why do you want to know?”

“Just curious.” Ray tried to stop his own nervousness bleeding into the words. One of them had to have the courage to see this through. They’d edged around it for months.

“Curious?” Bodie crossed the space between them to hand Ray his drink. He stood looking down at Ray sprawled on his couch. “And were you curious before or after you got to listen to it?”

“I’ve always been interested,” Ray said, keeping his voice level. It was important that Bodie realise this wasn’t the result of what he’d overheard, although that had certainly been in factor in making up his mind to act now. “I’ve just never done anything about it.”

Bodie put his glass down. “Why not?” he whispered.

“Never found the right bloke.” Ray’s voice was equally low. He licked his lips. “Until now.”

Bodie was on him in a flash, overwhelming in his passion. They met in a clash of teeth and a tangle of tongues, hands everywhere, clothes pulled asunder. They tumbled off the couch onto the floor and Ray found himself on his back under a much larger body. He fought back then, nipped at Bodie’s neck, placed his palms against the firm chest and pushed hard, surprised when Bodie yielded easily until their positions were reversed and Ray was straddling a pair of muscular thighs. He pulled back, breathing hard and looked down at the flushed face of his partner.

“This how you want it?” Bodie panted, looking up from where he lay on the floor. “ ‘cause you can have me any way you want me, Ray.”

Ray took a deep breath, trying to gain some measure of control. “Yeah, okay, but maybe not on the floor.” Not this time at least. “And Bodie, I meant it when I said I’ve never done anything. I wasn’t kidding.”

“Yeah, I know. Don’t worry.” They smiled at each other, the frenzy of moments before being replaced by gentler emotions. “You’ll like it, I promise. I know what I’m doing.” Bodie’s voice shook at little.

“I gathered that,” Ray replied.

They stood, suddenly awkward now that their brains had caught up to their bodies. The reality of the situation hit hard.

“Are we going to be all right tomorrow?” Ray asked as he followed Bodie to his bedroom. “This won’t get in the way of work, will it?”

“Nah, it’s just a bit of fun between friends. That’s all.”

If you say so Bodie, Ray thought to himself. He paused at the door, taking in the unmade bed with its rumpled sheets, so out of place among the regimental neatness of the room.

Bodie caught his look. “Ray, don’t think about it. What I did with Illya doesn’t mean anything to me.”

And what about what you’re going to do with me? Ray wondered. He stared at Bodie, wishing he could read his partner’s mind.

“Please Ray, I …I just want to forget him.”

“Yeah, I understand.” Ray took pity on him. Perhaps they both needed this for their own reasons. “But you’ll have to tell me what to do,” Ray added, feeling self conscious again.

“I’ll show you,” Bodie said, taking his hand and leading him to the bed. The last thought Ray had was that the sheets smelt of sweat and sex and Bodie, before thinking stopped and feeling took over. It didn’t seem strange to shed his clothes and feel the touch of another man, the strong hands, the rough mouth, the hard cock. They wrestled briefly for dominance until Bodie conceded once more and lay pliant beneath him.

“You want to fuck me?” Bodie whispered in the darkness. “It’ll be easy. The hard work’s already done.”

For a moment Ray did not understand, but then the harsh realisation struck him that Illya Kuryakin had shared this intimacy with Bodie only a short time before.

“Don’t start thinking about it, Ray,” Bodie continued. “It’ll be better this way…easier, for both of us.”

“Yeah, okay, but…how…”

“I’ll turn on my side, you lay behind me. It’s nice like that.” Bodie rolled over and Ray moulded himself along the broad back. It felt good, holding Bodie close, their skin touching from head to toe. Bodie raised one leg and whispered, “I’m still loose but go slow.”

It was all the direction Ray needed. He held on, one hand gaining purchase on Bodie’s hip while he sank himself into the welcoming warmth. He closed his eyes, unprepared for the sudden intensity of feeling, the rush of emotion, the shattering intimacy. He buried his nose in the hair at Bodie’s neck and breathed in the scent of his skin. As he set up a rhythm, he heard Bodie exhale, his breathing ragged, uneven. Bodie gasped and mewed as Ray built up speed, his thrusts becoming harder until they were both panting. He knew when Bodie was close, remembered the tell tale sounds from earlier and this time Ray didn’t hold back.

Afterwards they lay curled together, no desire to move apart. Ray kissed along Bodie’s shoulder, let his fingers play along the broad chest. Illya had been right, Bodie’s skin was soft. Bodie brought one hand up, and tangled his own fingers with Ray’s.

“Was it as good as you thought it would be?” Bodie whispered, sounding strangely vulnerable.

“Yes, ….but…”

“But?”

“But I’m really hoping we can try it the other way too.” Ray nibbled on Bodie’s ear.

“The other way? You want a blow job too?” That was more like the old Bodie. “Not a chance, sunshine, considering where your cock’s just been.”

Ray laughed. “Not a blow job. Turn-about. I want you to do it to me, so I can see why you were making those little whimpering noises. You certainly seem to like it.”

“Are you saying you want me to fuck you?”

“I can think of nicer ways to say it, Bodie.” Ray tickled along Bodie ribs, making him splutter and pull away.

Bodie rolled to face him. “Yeah, yeah, point taken.” He looked into Ray’s eyes, searching for something. “But are you sure, Ray?”

“Course I am, wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to. You seemed to enjoy it enough. It’s only fair that you show me why.”

Bodie laughed softly. “Yeah all right, but give me a moment to recover. That wasn’t the first time I came tonight.”

Ray kissed him quickly on the lips. “Yeah mate, I know. And if you can come twice for Kuryakin, then the least you can do is come twice for me.”

 

Part 14 – Barinda 1965

“Did you get it?” Napoleon asked as he met Bodie at the door of their hotel room. Bodie nodded, unable to speak for a moment and handed Napoleon the match box camera. He felt dirty and longed to take a bath to soak away the last remains of Merritt’s touch.

“Any problems?” Illya asked, holding out a glass of scotch. Bodie swallowed it before answering.

“No,” Bodie lied. “Once he was sleeping, I photographed everything I could find.” He sucked on his bottom lip. It felt bruised where Merritt had bitten him. “I don’t know what the papers were, it was too dark to read them. I hope they’re what you need?”

Napoleon and Illya looked at each other. “Oh they will be,” Napoleon replied, tucking the miniature camera into his suit pocket. “I’m sure they’re just what we need.” He glanced at Illya again, before turning to Bodie with a blinding smile. “I’ll put this somewhere safe until we can get it to UNCLE and have it developed.” He cast one last glance at Illya. “I’ll see you both in the morning.”

“You were gone a long time,” Illya stated after Napoleon had left.

Bodie walked to the window and looked out into the darkness. “Yeah, the drug didn’t work.”

“I see. What did you do?” The Russian’s voice showed no emotion.

“What Merritt paid me to do.” There was no point lying. Illya would find out soon enough if they were intimate later. And Bodie really hoped they would be. He wanted Illya to replace Merritt’s touch, to wipe away the stain on his skin with kisses, to reclaim Bodie’s body for his own.

“I kept waiting for him to pass out and when he didn’t I just had to do what he wanted.” Bodie hesitated, licked his sore lip again. “And you were wrong about him. He likes to do the fucking.”

Illya was silent for a moment. “Sometimes we have to make sacrifices to get the job done,” he said quietly. “You did well, Bodie. I knew we could count on you.”

Bodie sniffed. “Thanks.” He wished Illya would take him in his arms and show some concern. But perhaps men didn’t do that for each other. Perhaps UNCLE agents couldn’t afford to show their feelings.

Behind him Illya was pouring another drink. “Why don’t you go and get yourself cleaned up. You’ll sleep better that way.”

“Yeah, all right.” Bodie walked to the door, and with one last glance at Illya, headed down the hallway to the bathroom.

Later, as they lay in the big bed together, Bodie turned to Illya, reached out, ran his hand down the smooth chest. “So, do you want to…?” His fingers trailed lower towards their target. Illya caught his hand and pulled it away.

“Not tonight, Bodie. You should get some sleep. Napoleon and I have an early flight, tomorrow.”

“You’re leaving? Tomorrow?” Surely Illya and Napoleon couldn’t be leaving so soon.

“Yes, we have to get that film to UNCLE.”

“But what about me?” Bodie asked. “Can I come too?”

“I’m afraid that isn’t possible.” Illya dismissed the suggestion.

“But, I could be useful to you,” Bodie insisted. He’d proven his worth already. Done all that they’d asked of him. Illya must be able to see that. “I could join UNCLE and help you on other assignments.”

“Bodie, it’s not that easy.” Illya spoke as one would to a small child. “You can’t simply join UNCLE. Our Agents are specially selected. Training takes months.”

“Maybe I could just…live with you then. I…” Bodie searched for the right words, trying to find a way to tell Illya how he felt. He’d never been good at sharing his emotions but this was important. “I love you,” he finally stuttered out, self conscious and unsure.

“Bodie,” Illya whispered, taking his hand again, squeezing his fingers. “It’s not love that you feel for me. It’s lust. You like the way I made you feel last night. You hardly know me, the real me. And you’re young. You don’t even know what love means yet.”

Bodie didn’t answer. How could Illya dismiss his declaration so easily? Love or lust, they weren’t so very different were they? It still meant that he wanted to be with Illya.

“Do you understand, Bodie?” Illya was speaking again, voice soft, indulgent in the darkness.

“Not really.” There was no hiding the hurt in Bodie’s voice.

“You will one day. Love is about so much more than sex. You can have that with anyone. Love is about … caring and…partnership.”

“Partnership? You’re talking about Napoleon, aren’t you?” Bodie threw back. “You’re in love with him!”

“Maybe I am, but that’s the thing about love; it doesn’t depend on sex.” Illya’s blue eyes burned with a passion previously unseen, not even during their lovemaking. “I’d do anything for Napoleon – I’d kill for him and I’d die for him.”

Bodie rolled away. How could he ever compete with a man like Napoleon Solo, with his good looks, smooth talk and smart clothes?

“So what was all of this, then? Between us?” Bodie asked, not wanting to believe that he meant nothing to the Russian.

“It was a pleasant interlude between two friends, Bodie.”

“Between friends?”

“That’s how I saw it and I thought you did too.”

When Bodie didn’t answer, the Russian continued. “Look, why don’t you head back to England?” Illya’s voice was gentle. “I know a man there who could use someone like you.”

“Oh yeah?” Bodie gave a bitter laugh. “Like that is he?”

Illya ignored the jibe. “No. He’s a Major in the army and you’d do well in the forces. You’re good at following orders.”

Bodie snorted and turned his back. “Tell that to my mother!”

 

Part 15 - London 1975

Sunlight shining through the curtains woke Ray the next morning. He was still curled against Bodie’s back, warm and comfortable. Bodie hadn’t minded last night when, after their lovemaking, Ray had wrapped an arm around him as they dozed off to sleep. Now, listening to the slow, steady sound of his partner’s breathing, it was tempting to let sleep claim him again. Bodie was dead to the world.

But Cowley would be waiting and the morning was slipping past. Ray slid out of bed carefully so as not to wake his partner. He winced as the after-effects of last night’s love making made themselves known. Bodie had been so careful that Ray hadn’t felt any pain at the time. It had been … Ray searched for a word to describe the experience… amazing. Amazing and enlightening and very, very enjoyable. Bodie was definitely a master of that particular art. Now was a different story however, as parts of his body, unused to such invasions, finally protested. But it was a minor inconvenience and Ray ignored it, preferring to concentrate on the pleasure they had shared.

With a grin firmly planted on his face, he borrowed Bodie’s robe from its place on the back of the door and drifted out to the kitchen in search of coffee. He’d make Bodie some too before he woke him and hopefully that might ease things between them. Mornings after could be awkward enough with women. Ray didn’t even want to think about the possible minefields he and Bodie might stumble around in the cold light of day. As he set the kettle to boil, the phone rang. Ray hurried to answer it, hoping to give Bodie more time to sleep.

“Yeah?”

“Doyle? Is that you?” A familiar Scottish voice sounded over the phone. “What are you doing at Bodie’s? I’ve been trying to reach you all morning. Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Uh, sorry sir. It was late…when Kuryakin left and…I came up here to…check…on Bodie and we…got talking and…it was late… and I…stayed here…and…”

Bodie chose that moment to emerge from the bedroom, hair askew, wearing track pants and pulling on a tee shirt to cover up his creamy white skin.

“Cowley,” Ray mouthed.

Bodie rolled his eyes and whispered, “Fuck!”

“I was expecting a report over an hour ago, 4-5,” the controller’s voice continued. “And why aren’t you answering your RT?”

“My RT? Umm, I think I left it in the van, sir.”

“Well you have an hour to get in here with your report and the tape or you’ll be on observations for the next six months.”

“Yes sir,” Ray replied as Cowley hung up in his ear.

“Wearing my clothes now, Doyle?” Bodie tugged at the sleeve of the robe Ray was wearing as he wandered into the kitchen, grinning. “S’pose you’ll want to borrow my tooth brush next.”

Ray smiled. “I can think of better things of yours to put in my mouth, Bodie,” he tossed back, following Bodie and standing behind him at the kitchen bench. “Unfortunately, Cowley wants us in the hour, with the tape.” Ray paused for dramatic effect, glad Bodie’s back was still turned so he couldn’t see his grin. In his most serious voice Ray added, “I hope I remembered to switch it off before I came up last night.”

Bodie turned, expression caught somewhere between panic and disbelief. “Bloody hell, Ray! Can you erase it or…”

Ray doubled up with laughter.

“You bastard,” Bodie spat. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Sorry, couldn’t resist it.” Ray straightened up and wiped his eyes. “I’ll make it up to you with coffee” He held up one of the two cups he’d been preparing.

“Coffee?” Bodie screwed up his nose. “Who drinks coffee first thing in the morning?”

“I do.” Ray snatched the cup back before Bodie could empty it.

“Well I don’t. Civilised people drink tea.”

The phone rang again and Bodie went to answer it, leaving Ray grinning in the kitchen. If they could carry on like this, still flirt and laugh and tease each other about toothbrushes, tapes and tea and coffee, then perhaps last night had only brought them closer together and there was nothing to worry about. He wandered to the doorway just as Bodie was hanging up. “Cowley again?” he asked.

“No, that was Illya. He wants to see me again tonight.”

 

Part 16 – Barinda 1965

Bodie stood in the hotel lobby and accepted the passport that Napoleon handed over. It was crisp and new and sported a copy of the same photo Solo had taken for Bodie’s fake security ID. It looked authentic too, far better than some of the cheap forgeries he’d been offered in the past.

“And there’s an airline ticket home,” Napoleon added. “The flight leaves at midday.”

A one way ticket to Heathrow. Bodie tried to smile graciously. “Thank you.” He slipped them into his pocket.

They’d let him keep the clothes, except for the tuxedo of course. They’d also given him about fifty pounds in various currencies. Bodie felt like throwing it back, but he pocketed it instead, knowing that he’d earned it. He regretted not having the presence of mind to take the $20 that Merritt had left on the bedside table, but he’d been so worried about completing his assignment that he’d simply forgotten about the money. Merritt was probably still laughing.

“It’s been a pleasure working with you, Bodie,” Napoleon said, patting Bodie on the shoulder. “But if you’ll excuse me I have one more farewell to make.” Miss Carmona appeared again, hovering in the doorway. “I’ll meet you at the car, Illya.”

“Of course, Napoleon,” Illya sighed in resignation. Silence descended. Bodie stared at his shoes. Napoleon had chosen them. They were nice shoes, leather brogues but totally impractical. Perhaps he could sell them and put the money towards a decent pair of boots.

“Will you be all right, Bodie?” Illya asked. Bodie didn’t look up.

“Yeah, fine. I’ll head to the airport and wait there, probably best if I don’t hang around in case Merritt recognises me.” He had no intention of returning to England but he wasn’t about to share his plans with Illya. He’d cash in the ticket and add it to his funds. Then he’d head down to the rougher side of town and make some inquiries, find out who was hiring mercs and where. There was always some little war going on somewhere in Africa and Bodie wasn’t choosy.

“Bodie, look at me.”

Reluctantly, Bodie raised his eyes. It was heartbreaking to look into Illya’s blue eyes and see nothing there. But it was no use thinking about what might have been. He had to face the truth. Despite what Illya had said last night, Bodie suspected he was nothing more than a night’s diversion and a way to forget Napoleon. The two UNCLE agents had both used him, each for their own purpose. And now that they had what they wanted, he was of no further use to them. It hurt, although Bodie wouldn’t admit that to anyone, least of all himself.

Well he didn’t need them and he’d be damned if he let Illya Kuryakin think he did. So he looked up, bold as brass and smirked, “Think we have time for one last fuck?”

Illya didn’t react, simply pulled an envelope from his pocket and held it out. “Take this. It’s a letter of introduction for you to use back in England. I’ve also sent him a letter in case you lose that one. He’s a good man and he’ll find a place for you, Bodie, if you want one.”

Reluctantly, Bodie accepted the envelope. What could it hurt to take it and perhaps one day, if he ever returned home, it might prove useful.

Bodie watched Illya’s retreating back, his broad shoulders clothed in black, watched his blond hair catch the sun as he stepped through the hotel doors, watched as he negotiated with Napoleon as to who was going to take the wheel, watched as they drove away.

And as he stood all alone in the hotel lobby, wondering what to do next, Bodie glanced down at the envelope he held in his hand.

The name on the front read ‘Major George Cowley’.

 

Part 17 – London 1975

Of course, Cowley was in favour of Kuryakin’s second visit and Ray found himself once again sitting in the surveillance van listening to Bodie and the Russian. They’d gone straight to bed, no pretence this time that anything else was on the agenda, and now they lay talking while they rested and regained their strength.

Ray simmered, feeling something strangely akin to jealousy, wishing he could cross the road and throw the Russian out. He and Bodie had arranged to meet after Kuryakin left so Ray could only bide his time and dream about what they might do later. He wanted Bodie in the physical sense. Wanted to hold him and love him and make him forget that he ever knew the Russian. But they both had their orders, and Ray’s was to listen and record. Bodie had the harder task.

“You said last night that you were still with UNCLE?” Bodie began. That was Cowley’s prime objective, for Bodie to follow up on Illya’s cryptic suggestion. The Russian had successfully sidetracked Bodie’s attempts to get more information last night by initiating another round of athletic sex. Tonight Bodie had timed his interrogation a little better.

“Did I?” Kuryakin’s voice held a note of amusement. “I think my words were ‘What made you think I’d left UNCLE?’”

“Oh, and…have you?”

“Why are you so interested?” The words were wary, hesitant.

“Well, you seemed so….” Bodie floundered, searching for a reason. “So committed to UNCLE back in Barinda. And of course….there was Napoleon.”

“Ah yes - Napoleon.”

“Did you and he ever…”

Illya cut the question short. “That’s none of your business.”

“I’m just…curious,” Bodie persisted. “I know what he meant to you.”

“Did you, Bodie?” Illya asked, suddenly wistful. “Did you really understand?”

“No, not at the time, but…” Bodie hesitated, voice wavering. When he spoke again however his tone was more certain. “But I do now. I understand what you were trying to tell me, that night in Barinda.”

“Do you remember what I said about making sacrifices?” Illya asked, a strange note to his voice. Something in the words and their inflection made Ray sit up, as an icy finger of unease trailed up his spine.

“Sacrifices? No.” Bodie sounded puzzled. “I remember what you said about partnership and caring for someone.”

There was silence for a moment and then Illya, voice low and direct asked, “How is George Cowley these days?”

“Oh fuck,” Ray whispered into the following silence.

“Who?” Bodie replied, a heartbeat too late.

The bed springs squeaked and there was a rustle of clothing.

“George Cowley. That is who you are working for, isn’t it?”

“I’m a civil servant,” Bodie insisted. “Illya, wait. Are you leaving?”

“Civil servant? Is that what they’re calling CI5 agents?” The words were cold and deadly.

“Illya, what are you…”

The gunshot sounded loud and sharp over the headphones, deafening Ray for a moment.

“Bodie!” he shouted, reaching for his RT. He pulled the headphones from his head but not before he heard the Russian’s final words.

“He’s all yours, Mr Doyle.”

Ray sprinted across the road, calling for back up and an ambulance on his RT as he ran. He paused momentarily at the bottom of the stairs. Was Kuryakin laying in wait for him as well? He took the staircase cautiously as his training dictated, slowly, carefully, gun in hand, all the time knowing that any delay could be fatal for Bodie. The door to Bodie’s flat was wide open, the flat in darkness. Outside a siren wailed in the distance. Ray dived through the doorway, rolled, came up into a crouch, gun at the ready, trigger finger poised. The flat was silent except for a moan from the bedroom. He found Bodie bleeding on the bed, a bullet wound to his shoulder. Kuryakin was long gone.

“He shot me,” Bodie stuttered, face pale, breathing shallow.

“Yeah mate, I know. But you’ll be all right. Ambulance is coming.” Ray grabbed Bodie’s discarded shirt and applied pressure to the wound. Bodie fainted.

The trip to the hospital passed in a blur, Ray riding in the ambulance, refusing to leave his partner’s side. A quick flash of his CI5 badge and he was even admitted into Bodie’s cubicle while a doctor examined him. But he was forced to stay in the waiting room when they wheeled Bodie into the operating theatre and it was there that George Cowley found him some time later.

“That bastard tried to kill him,” Ray shouted, jumping to his feet, anger directed at the man he held responsible for everything. This was Cowley’s fault, and he’d damned well make sure that the Controller knew he thought so.

“Oh don’t be so melodramatic, 4-5.” Cowley dismissed Ray’s tirade with a wave of his hand. “If Kuryakin had wanted Bodie dead, he’d be resting in the morgue now. No, he aimed for the place that would cause the least amount of damage, the shoulder. Bullet went right through, I’m told. A nice clean wound. He gambled that you’d attend to Bodie rather than follow him.” Cowley cocked his head, speculatively. “Seems he knows you well, Doyle.”

“Well what would you rather me do, sir?” Ray shouted, not ready to concede Cowley any ground. “Leave Bodie bleeding to death?”

“No, no, you did the right thing. If this was some sort of setup to get Kuryakin back in with the Soviets then it’s worked out quite well.”

“Tell that to Bodie!”

“Bodie was a casualty of war, Doyle. He’ll realise that when he starts using his head rather than his heart.”

That gave Ray pause. Not only was it the first indication that Cowley knew how deeply Bodie was involved with Kuryakin, but it also implied their relationship had been based on something other than sex. Had Bodie been in love with the Russian? That would certainly explain some of his reactions.

“Tell me what happened, 4-5,” Cowley asked, forcing Ray back to the matter at hand.

Ray sat down, his anger finally spent, leaving him drained. “Kuryakin knew we were working for you. He knew I was listening.”

“Really?” Cowley raised his eyebrows. “That is interesting.”

“But what does it mean?” Ray ran a hand through his curls. “Is he working for the Russians? Have they infiltrated CI5?”

“Not necessarily. I suspect there is more at play here than I am privy to.”

“And Bodie was nothing more than a pawn in all of this?” Ray asked.

“Bodie may have been a pawn, Doyle,” Cowley said, showing a rare indulgent smile. “But he had a knight to back him up.”

 

Part 18 - London 1975

Ray awoke the next morning to find he’d fallen asleep in a chair while waiting for Bodie to return from surgery. He stretched, muscles protesting their cramped position and went in search of Bodie. He was directed to a small private room on the second floor. CI5 looked after its own. Half awake he wandered in and gazed on his sleeping partner.

“Christ Bodie,” he whispered, taking in the bandage swaddled shoulder, the pale complexion. “I’ll kill the bastard if I get my hands on him.”

Eyelids flickered open. “Ray? What are you doing here?” Glazed blue eyes looked him up and down. “You look like hell!”

“Been here all night,” Ray replied, suddenly aware that he must look a sight in his rumpled and blood splattered clothes, face unshaven and hair everywhere. He smoothed his curls down with one hand. “Fell asleep in the waiting room.”

“You should have gone home,” Bodie said.

“Nah, had to stay to make sure you didn’t get into any more trouble. Can’t leave you alone for a minute, can I?” Ray’s attempt at humour didn’t even register with Bodie.

“What happened to Illya?” Bodie asked, voice atremble. “Did you…?”

Ray shook his head. “No. He was gone by the time I reached your flat. But if I ever get my hands on him…”

“It’s not his fault, Ray. He was probably acting under orders. Remember what Cowley said, if he knew about CI5, then he’s still in deep with someone.” Bodie gave a weak laugh. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been used by UNCLE.”

“But he shot you Bodie! Why make excuses for him?”

Bodie looked away and Ray waited, giving him time to find the courage to voice whatever was on his mind. It would serve no purpose to press or goad. Whatever Bodie wanted to say, he’d have to do it of his own volition.

“I was in love with him once,” Bodie confessed. “Well, as much in love as 19 year old bloke can be. It was probably half lust and half hero worship, but it was real to me. He was the first person I ever really felt anything for.”

There was a residue of pain in Bodie’s blue eyes, an old hurt, hidden but never forgotten. Ray longed to ask more but wasn’t sure he had the right. Damn Kuryakin for doing this to Bodie, for opening up old wounds just when there was a chance that he and Bodie might… Ray shut down that line of thinking. There was no point wondering about what might have been. Bodie would hardly want to embark on a new relationship now.

“I understand, Bodie,” Ray said, hoping his friend couldn’t detect the disappointment in his voice. He reached out, took Bodie’s good hand where it lay on the bed, squeezed gently. “Look, if there’s anything I can do, anything you need…” The best thing Ray could do for his partner now was show him that he was there for him. Anything else would have to wait.

“Well, there is one thing. I don’t like to ask but…”

“Sure mate, what is it?”

“Tell the doctor I’m staying with you, please? They won’t discharge me if they know I’m on my own and I really don’t want to stay here any longer than necessary.”

Ray considered the request. “You want me to call someone for you? Maybe see if Jackie can come around and stay for a while?”

“Nah, birds just make a fuss and I hate that. I’ll be right on my own.”

“I’ll take you back to my place then. You can stay with me.”

“There’s no need, Ray.”

“If I tell them I’m looking after you, then that’s what I’m going to do,” Ray insisted. If he was honest with himself, Ray liked the thought of looking after Bodie, cooking for him, caring for him. Someone should do it considering everything his partner had been through in the last week. And Bodie was good company too, so it would be fun to have him around even if it was only in a purely platonic way.

“I don’t want to put you to any trouble, Ray.”

“No trouble,” Ray smiled. “It’s what partners do for each other.”

“Partners.” Bodie echoed in a voice strangely wistful. “Yeah, that’s what we are, isn’t it. Partners.” He fell silent again, an almost unnatural state for Bodie, who was not given to brooding.

“You know Ray, I’ve been thinking about things while I was lying here,” Bodie began again. “I’ve been wondering about you and me and the other night and what it means.” Bodie’s voice trembled and Ray could detect a hint of fear.

“Bit of fun between friends, mate,” Ray replied. “Just like you said.” It was more than that to him of course. Much more. He’d realised as much as he sat in the waiting room last night and thought about how close he’d come to losing Bodie to a bullet. Ray had discovered that he needed Bodie, needed him in ways that were new and unexpected. He couldn’t imagine life without Bodie now and he had hoped Bodie might share the feeling. But he’d give his partner a way out, if that was what he needed. It was understandable after being shot by a not so ex-lover. Bodie may not want to risk his heart again. Ray closed his eyes, affording them both cover while Bodie sorted through his feelings.

“Just sex? Is that all?” Bodie asked, voice wavering.

Ray opened his eyes and met Bodie’s. He tried to read what was hidden there, behind the hurt and the pain and the broken trust. Was it hope that he saw, still shining faintly in the blue depths? It was time to take a risk, time to put his own heart on the line and hope that Bodie might feel the same way.

“It could be something more…if you want it to be?” Ray whispered softly.

With his good arm, Bodie reached out, his hand clasping Ray’s, entwining their fingers. “Something more? Yeah, I like that sound of that,” he said, smiling.

Ray closed the space between them and kissed Bodie gently on the lips. “So do I,” he whispered. “So do I.”

 

Part 19 - London 1975 - Epilogue

George Cowley made his way towards the figure waiting in the shadows. “Mr Solo?” he enquired. The man stepped forward into the light. “Yes and you must be Major Cowley. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Cowley gave a soft laugh. “The pleasure is mutual, although Major is not a title I use these days, Mr Solo. It’s plain old Mr Cowley now.”

It was Solo’s turn to laugh. “From what I’ve heard, there’s nothing plain about you, sir.”

“Don’t waste your flattery on me, Mr Solo. I’m simply doing a job.”

“Of course, as am I.” Solo reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a large envelope. “I believe this is what you came for.”

“It’s what I was promised when I agreed to sacrifice one of my men for your scheme.” Cowley took the envelope and opened it. Inside were several black and white photos of two men in flagrante. “And the negatives? I was promised the negatives also.”

“They’re in there,” Solo replied. “It’s your man.”

“Oh I know it is,” Cowley replied, studying the photos closely. “Young as he was when these were taken. There’s no mistaking him.” Cowley looked up and fixed Solo with a frown. “You should be ashamed of yourselves.”

“He was willing.”

“He was little more than a boy when you discovered him in that Congo prison. He was alone with no one to turn to, no one to help him. You took advantage or his vulnerability and used him. Mercilessly.”

Solo smiled. “Illya always said you had a soft side. He was right to send him to you.”

“Oh don’t give me that. Nothing Illya ever does is due to altruism. He always has ulterior motives.”

“You may be right, although it’s taken a long time for this one to come to fruition.”

“And has it worked? Have they taken him back?” Cowley asked.

“Oh yes, shooting a CI5 agent who also happens to be an ex-lover holds great weight in … certain circles. But it’s a dangerous assignment for Illya, all the same. If they doubt him for one moment, they’ll kill him.” Napoleon’s words were brimming with unspoken concern.

“All the more reason to keep it a secret, then,” Cowley agreed.

Napoleon nodded. “Only a handful of people know the truth.”

“And I’m glad I’m not one of them.” Cowley looked off into the darkness. “I don’t want to know where Illya has gone or why. I’ve got what I wanted.”

Napoleon smiled. “I’m curious as to why you wanted those,” he said, indicating the envelope Cowley was holding. “Private collection or is it to keep your man in line?”

“We all have our secrets, Mr Solo,” Cowley said, tucking the envelope into his overcoat. “This one is mine.”

“Well, I’ll bid you good evening then, Mr Cowley.”

“And the same to you, Mr Solo.” Cowley turned away but paused. “When you see Illya again,” he said softly, “Tell him all debts are settled.”

Cowley drove home, deep in thought. Once there he sat down and spread the photos out on his desk and studied them. So young, he thought, but hardly innocent.

He’d heard rumours of how UNCLE had used compromising photos to instigate Merritt’s expulsion from Barinda but had never seen the evidence until now. It wasn’t until much later that he suspected Bodie’s involvement. He’d pieced together Bodie’s life, bit by bit over the years since he’d received Illya’s letter mentioning a young mercenary he’d met in Africa. It was Kuryakin’s own interest in Bodie that caused Cowley to look him up and follow his movements. Illya was hardly the sentimental type but Bodie had clearly captured his imagination if not his heart. It was four years before Bodie finally made contact, presenting Cowley with a creased and grubby letter of recommendation written years before by Illya Kuryakin. By then Cowley had built up a small file on Bodie’s doings.

Cowley may have owed a debt to Kuryakin but that wasn’t why he paved the way for Bodie to enter the army, or why he chose him in the first round of recruits for CI5. Bodie was a survivor, a man who by rights should have long ago succumbed to death or darkness. Yet somehow, against all odds, he had managed to stay alive and hold onto his humanity. No soulless rogue, but a well trained soldier who would follow orders to the letter.

George Cowley had use for a man like that. And Bodie was Cowley’s man now, discarded by UNCLE when he’d served his purpose in the same way they threw away other innocents they no longer needed. There was one final thread left to sever. Cowley’s agents must be above blackmail and those photos, no matter how old, could be a dangerous weapon in the wrong hands. In the Great Game, one never really knew who to trust.

Slipping the photos and negatives back into the envelope, Cowley walked to the empty fireplace and placed them on the grate before reaching for the matches on the mantle above. With great satisfaction he struck a match and watched the flames take hold, burning to ashes the last reminders of Bodie’s brush with UNCLE.

Some things should be left in the past.

 

August 2009


End file.
